Writer's Block
by The One Forgotten
Summary: Writer’s block has stricken, and the crew are terrified as to what could happen next…but can they fight back? AN: Read the warning!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Trek: Voyager, Star Wars, Stargate or any of the characters in this story. I make no money from this fic, and I take no responsibility for any harm suffered while reading it.

A/N: I'm back! Oh, stop groaning, you know you missed me. Okay, so no one noticed I was gone...still, never mind. I promise to catch up on all the wonderful stories posted in my absence and leave some reviews! Meanwhile, please don't kill me for what I'm about to post, and make sure you READ THE WARNING! I am not getting flames from people who claim they weren't warned about how awful this fic is!

**WARNING**: This fic is not to be taken seriously. I believe a lot of fanfiction writers out there are very talented people who write excellent stories about characters we all love deeply (some more than others…). It's just that, well, I'm going to take thep--s out of Fanfic Writers, particularly those who like to write romance, slash and Mary Sues. I'm sorry if this causes you offence. If it does, don't read this. There's nothing hugely offensive aside from some gratuitous sex references, violence, absurdity, hysteria and blatantly bad attempts at humour. If you take yourself and your fan fiction seriously, I would advise you not to read this fic. **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**.

Synopsis: Writer's block has stricken, and the crew are terrified as to what could happen next…but can they fight back?

**Chapter One**

Archer frowned, staring at each of his officers assembled around the situation room table.

"Does anyone have any idea what's causing these phenomena?" he asked, at last, "Because, quite frankly, the situation is becoming intolerable."

The senior officers were doing their best not to look at each other. Archer glanced at each of them. T'Pol was standing as far away from Trip as possible, arms folded, her face a mask. The others were not so good at hiding their feelings. Hoshi was stood there in her underwear, at the opposite end of the table, a dark flush creeping up her face, also staying as far away from the men as possible. Trip and Reed were standing side by side; Trip had an expression of vague confusion, while Reed had a black eye, a split lip and flinched every time anyone so much as moved near him.

"Captain, the phenomenon defies any attempt at logical reasoning…" T'Pol began.

"I love you!" Hoshi suddenly screamed, at the top her voice, "I want to have your babies!"

She threw herself forwards, hands outstretched towards Reed. With a practiced manoeuvre, the lieutenant yanked out a phase pistol and stunned her into unconsciousness.

"Was the really necessary?" Archer asked, glancing down at Hoshi's unconscious form.

"It's about the only thing that works, captain," Trip said, and scowled.

"What's the matter?"

"It's my…mah…accent. It keeps changing…changin'. It disappears without warning. Warnin', even. Captain. Cap'n. Damn!"

"I had noticed," said Archer, dryly, "does anybody have any clue what's going on?"

"There's nothing on long range sensors," Reed said, and instinctively ducked.

Nothing happened, and Archer frowned at him. Reed looked up apologetically.

"Sorry, sir," he said, "It's just that every time I draw attention to myself, something…"

With a loud clatter, the section of bulkhead right above the lieutenant fell away from the ceiling, landing right on top of him. Archer sighed.

"Someone drag him out of there," he said, waving his hand as Trip and Travis Mayweather – who seemed to have materialised out of thin air – lifted the bulkhead, and Reed staggered to his feet.

"That should have at least given you a concussion," Trip said, stunned.

"I've had so many knocks on the head, I think I'm immune," Reed groaned, "Hey – your accent's gone again."

Trip glowered at him, as Travis waved his arms frantically.

"You guys can see me, right?" he shouted, "I'm here! Pay attention to me! I exist!"

"Did anyone else hear that?" Archer frowned.

"Hear what?" Trip asked.

"That…buzzing noise."

"I believe it is Ensign Mayweather," T'Pol replied, dryly.

"Who?" Archer asked, blankly.

"Your helmsman? The one who flies the ship?" T'Pol prompted.

"Oh…oh! Yes," Archer nodded, "Carry on, ensign…"

Deflated, Travis vanished into the background again, as Archer paced backwards and forwards for a moment.

"Things keep happening to us," he said, thinking aloud, "things we have no control over. It's getting in the way of our mission…weird things…"

---

Archer glanced up at an odd noise. T'Pol was growling – yes, actually growling – at Trip. The engineer was staring at Reed, who was backing up in horror.

"I love you, Malcolm…" Trip whispered.

"Captain! Do something!" Reed's voice was about two octaves higher than normal.

"You're supposed to love me!" T'Pol shouted, "I'm the established love interest!"

"What the-?" Archer said, faintly, "Come on, let's just talk about this, we can find a peaceful solution before I kick the crap out of everybody, right?"

Reed pulled out his phase pistol and stunned Trip, and for good measure turned it on T'Pol.

"I'm straight, okay?" he shouted, his voice bordering on the hysterical, "The gratuitous references to your bum and past girlfriends in 'Shuttlepod One' was supposed to establish that!"

"Doesn't mean you're not bisexual," Travis butted in, reappearing.

Reed turned around and shot him.

"Recognition at last!" Travis cried, collapsed to the deck, and promptly disappeared again.

---

The turbo lift door opened, and a Klingon walked in. He calmly crossed over to Reed, bashed him over the head with his clenched fist, and walked out again. Archer sighed, leaning against the table.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"I believe we…and our surroundings…are being manipulated," T'Pol said, at length, "by strange beings who probably have nothing better to do with their spare time."

"What?" Archer said, confused, "Now, wait a minute, they could be perfectly normal, balanced human beings…wait…where did that come from?"

"My theory is that these beings are capable of putting words into our mouths and making us act according to their own desires," T'Pol told him, "I believe that this is done for their own amusement."

"What…like, the Q Continuum?" Archer asked.

"Continuity error, Captain. The Q Continuum has not yet been discovered," T'Pol responded, "my theory is that we are dealing with a species that is much, much worse…"

Archer felt a cold pit of dread in his stomach. Reed had crawled under the table, and was muttering fearfully to himself.

"You don't mean…?" Archer began, hesitantly.

"I'm afraid so, Captain. We are at the mercy of…Fanfic Writers."

----

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm back again, and the absurdity continues. I'm glad I've had such a positive response so far - it gives me a nice warm feeling (it's either that or someone's tried to set fire to me again!) Anyhow... Many, many thanks go to: **Orion9** (Thank you!) **elbcw** (You want more of this? What kind of masochist are you? LOL.) **RoaringMice** (Awww. Thank you.LOL. Funny you should mention a stick...wait until next chapter.) **Exploded Pen** (Aww, you'll embarass me. Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it!) **The Libran Iniquity** (If only I could get into your head - where the hell do you get your ideas from? This fic stems from me having no ideas!) and, of course, **JMK758** (I just wanted to be careful with the warning - there are people who would take offence, I'm sure. More 'nonsense' for you in this chapter!) Thank you all!

P.S. I'm having computer problems at the moment. So I'm sorry if my updates aren't as fast as usual. My monitor is dying. I have a one-inch band in the middle of the screen that is in focus and that's what I'm using to see to type! As always, I don't have a beta reader, and I wouldn't know what to feed it if I did, so all mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**Chapter Two**

"What can we do?" Archer asked, as Hoshi and Trip slowly regained consciousness, and got to their feet, looking abashed.

"There is little we can do," T'Pol shrugged.

"Vulcans shrug?" Trip noted, "That's a human gesture! Continuity error!"

"Shut up, farm boy!" T'Pol shot back.

"You're getting out of character, T'Pol," Archer said, warningly.

"My apologies, captain," she said, settling back down again, "it is…their influence."

"The…Fanfic Writers?" Hoshi said, looking around fearfully, "I'm scared. Someone make love to me. Malcolm?"

"No," said the British accent under the table, "I'm not coming out. I'm fed up of being beaten up, revealing my feelings, and being forced into romantic liaisons with just about anybody. Even Travis, for God's sake. I'm staying under here."

"Lieutenant…" Archer began.

Without warning, the table collapsed, burying Reed. Archer blinked.

"That was a little far fetched, wasn't it?" he said, aloud.

"It could have been worse," Trip shrugged, "cap'n, ah c'n r'm'ber w'n…"

"Stop! Too much accent!" Archer ordered, "I have no idea what you're saying. We need to do something. Suggestions?"

"Find the buggers and blow them up," Reed suggested, crawling out of the wreckage of the table, covered in bloody cutsand bruises.

"Impossible. They exist on a totally different plane of existence," T'Pol responded, "They have influence over us, but we cannot influence them."

"Maybe we could, you know, talk to them?" Hoshi suggested.

"Again, impossible. They are the ones who make us speak," T'Pol informed her, "they can control our every action."

"Then why are we even aware of them? Why can we talk about them like this? What's going on?" Archer's voice rose, "How the hell do we know we're not just being controlled like puppets right now!"

"Because, Captain, even Fanfic Writers take a break now and then," T'Pol responded, "Right now, I believe we are caught in the middle of what is known as an episode of 'Writers Block'. The writers have no idea what to do with us right now, and are trying hard to think of an idea."

"Is there anything we can do? Before they get an idea?"

"We could refuse to co-operate," Trip said, his voice once again vaguely understandable, "just… do nothing."

---

A long moment passed where nothing happened. It was a void that had to be filled. Hoshi let out a scream, and leapt at T'Pol.

"I love you! I've always loved you!"

"Hey! I saw her first!" Trip lunged forwards to intercept the love-crazed linguist.

"Don't hurt Hoshi!" Malcolm swung a fist at the engineer.

"Hey! Nobody hits my best buddy!" Archer protested.

"Stop this at once!" T'Pol snapped.

The effect was instantaneous and cringingly cheesy. Archer had Reed held by the collar, one fist raised to strike, Trip had a broken bottle in one hand, poised to bring it down on Archer's head, and Hoshi was seductively tied to a chair. Immediately, Archer let go.

"How did that happen?" he asked, amazed.

"Could someone untie me, please?" Hoshi asked, batting her eyelids, "or not, if you prefer…?"

"I believe that was a random plot occurrence," T'Pol said, regaining her composure, as everyone ignored Hoshi, "the Fanfic Writers are obviously stuck for ideas."

"We need to get out of here," Archer said, looking around the situation room.

"Negative, captain. This part of the bridge is extremely boring, and nothing can possibly happen here," explained T'Pol, who was rapidly becoming convinced that her only role was to keep explaining things, and to be ogled by Trip, "should we go onto the main part of the bridge, undoubtedly we would be attacked by hostile aliens and a story would begin, we would loose ourselves in the plot, and not realise what was happening to us."

"This is…" Archer shook his head, obviously stuck for words to describe the situation, "wrong, on so many levels…"

"Agreed," said T'Pol, dryly.

"Well, ah'm not gonna jest sit here an' leddit happen!" Trip said, indignantly, "C'mon out! Show yerselves!"

"Well, at least there was something resembling an accent there," Archer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "T'Pol, what can we do?"

"We must find a way to let the Writers know that we will not cooperate with them," T'Pol said, firmly, "we must…we must…we must arrange my marriage to Trip as soon as possible…"

"T'Pol! Snap out of it!" Archer ordered.

She blinked, and shook her head.

"Sorry, Captain," she said, looking vaguely surprised, "the Writers are breaking down my emotional control."

"This is wandering from the point," Reed spoke up, flinching automatically.

Nothing happened. He swallowed, nervously.

"I have a suggestion…" he continued.

Suddenly, a transporter beam activated next to him, and an alien appeared; your usual type – funny skin, no hair, evil eyes, big gun – carrying a bucket of water, which it used to drench Reed, before beaming out again.

"Okay!" Reed shouted, "We get it! I hate water! So would you if you'd been drowned as many times as I have!"

"What was your suggestion?" Archer asked, ignoring his outburst.

"I've forgotten," Reed said, a little sulkily.

"We could try…I dunno…making up our own story?" Trip offered.

"Absolutely not," T'Pol responded, folding her arms, "I have no wish to participate in the fantasies of Commander Tucker."

"Too late," Reed murmured, earning himself a slap across the back of the head from Trip.

"Someone pay attention to me!" Travis shouted, reappearing briefly, "Blow up the ship!"

"That's not a bad idea," Reed's eyes lit up, "big explosion. Cool."

"It would not work," sighed T'Pol, "these people are totally immune to continuity. Character deaths are a common occurrence that can be overlooked for the next story. Destroy the ship and it would merely reappear in the next fic."

---

A/N: I don't know why, but the phrase 'love-crazed linguist' struck me as hilariously funny. Yes, I know you're not supposed to laugh at your own work. No, I'm not drunk, honest. Or stoned. Certifiable, but not drunk or stoned. Unfortunatly.

P.S. For those of you who are wondering about the whole thing with Trip's accent…haven't you noticed how some people try to write his accent, while others write normally? Some do kind of half-and-half…I just tend to ignore it…so yeah, I'm kind of taking the proverbial out of my own work here…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Wow. I'm stunned by the positive response so far! Thank you all for making this worth while. Especially to my kind reviewers; **elbcw** (Not in this chapter, things will start happening soon!) **RoaringMice** (lol - I can just imagine a written British accent..._aaay sa-y, old chap..._thank God Malcolm doesn't talk like that!) **General** **Kunama** (Thank you, and yes...there will be more chapters...if my computer monitor doesn't give up the ghost!) **The Libran Iniquity** (lol - thank you - wait until you read the next chapter. With the stick. No spoilers...) **Exploded Pen** (awww, shucks, you'll make my head get big! I've done the thing with the 'mind you head sign' too... hurts like a bugger, don't it? I'm over 6ft tall, too - you'd have thought I'd see the bloody thing...!) and **Quickbeam1** (thanks for your review - I just like to torture these people!)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**Chapter Three**

"So…if we're between fics, this is the only time we're aware of our situation?" Hoshi asked, trying not to look at anyone in case a Fanfic Writer got the wrong idea.

"Apparently so," T'Pol nodded, another human gesture that was being imposed on her with irritating frequency, "I am…at a loss as to what to suggest."

There was a long pause where, once again, nothing happened. Then, out of the blue, Trip punched Malcolm.

"What the hell was that for?" Archer asked, as Reed picked himself up off the floor.

"Dunno," Trip shrugged, "he's the only Limey aboard – stands to reason the Yanks can kick the crap out of him."

"Oh," Archer said, not knowing how to respond.

There was another long pause. Hoshi threw herself at Travis, but he'd been forgotten about again so she ended up with her arms wrapped around T'Pol, who simply gave her a Vulcan nerve pinch. Hoshi fell to the deck.

"That might have been the Vulcan death grip," Trip commented.

"There is no such thing as a Vulcan death grip," T'Pol growled.

"Easy on the growling, there," Trip teased, "We might think you've got emotions."

"What are you, stupid?" T'Pol bellowed, "Of course I've got bloody emotions! Everybody knows it! I can't pretend anymore! I'm just a normal human with prosthetic ears and a spray-on body suit!"

"Calm down, T'Pol, that's not helping," Archer said, calmly, as T'Pol immediately switched back to 'cold Vulcan' mode, "We need to do something constructive!"

"I could build some more weapons…" Reed offered.

"They'd only blow up in ya face," Trip replied, "Maybe we need to bring in some other people to ask…"

"No!" cried Archer, T'Pol, Reed, Hoshi and Travis, but the damage had been done.

Four shimmering transporter columns appeared, leaving behind four newcomers.

"Oh, no," Trip groaned, "Crossovers. Great."

"Crossovers?" Hoshi repeated, batting her eyelashes at the newcomers.

"Characters from different stories or timelines or realities are introduced to our universe," T'Pol explained, "Usually established members of a mirror universe, alternate timeline, or visitors from the future."

"Who the hell are you people?" Archer demanded, "And don't start with the, 'oh my gosh, what's going on' crap, just tell me."

"Uh," said the first, a young man with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes, "I'm lieutenant Tom Paris, helmsman of the USS Voyager. I'm from the future!"

"Wonderful," said Archer, dryly, "Next, please?"

"I'm from an alternate reality," said a tall man with dark hair, "I'm Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon."

"Never heard of it," Archer said, "next?"

"Uh, hi," said an attractive woman with short blonde hair, "I'm kind of from an alternative reality and the past…I'm Major Sam Carter, SG1, based at Stargate Command."

"Never heard of that, either," Archer replied, "this is getting more and more far fetched. What about you?"

"Well," breathed the final character, a woman who was every man's desire, perfect in every way, "I'm Mary Sue, and I…"

She got no further. A blast from a phase pistol killed her instantly.

"Good shot, Malcolm," Archer nodded, "the rest of you, shove off back to your own universes. There's nothing going to happen here."

Muttering discontentedly, the three of them shuffled off into the turbo-lift, Sam Carter pausing long enough to kick Malcolm Reed for no apparent reason, and they disappeared from thought. Mary Sue vanished as well, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

---

"Now what?" Trip asked, "So far, we've not gotten any further towards finding a way out of this situation. Stuff still keeps happening. My accent still isn't right!"

"I keep getting beaten up," Malcolm added, sulkily.

"I'm loosing control of my emotions," T'Pol sobbed.

"I need love!" Hoshi wept.

"I…I…I can't take this any more!" Archer screamed, "Get a hold of yourselves! You're Starfleet officers! Start acting like it!"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Aww. Looks like someone needs a hug…" Hoshi said.

"Get away from me!"

There was another long moment of silence.

"Malcolm, have I ever told you…"

"Don't go there, Trip."

Silence.

"Captain, would now be a good time to…?"

"No, Hoshi."

Silence.

"Maybe they're finally out of ideas," Trip whispered, as if whispering would help.

"Shut up, Trip."

Long pause.

"I mean, maybe we can just pretend this never happened…"

"Shut up, Trip!"

Silence reigned once more. A section of the wall suddenly came away and flattened Lt. Reed, but everyone ignored it.

"Do you think we should…?"

"Hoshi, be quiet. If we do nothing, they might loose interest in us."

---

There was a long silence, that was suddenly ended, by of all things, a giggle. Archer frowned.

"Hoshi?" he said, warningly.

"It wasn't me, Jon," Hoshi purred, batting her eyelids at him, "Though if you like, I can-?"

"Shut up?" Archer suggested, "Yes please. Now who giggled? Trip?"

"Ah reeee-sent that," Trip scowled, "Ahhhhhm an engineeeer, not some gosh-daaaarrrrned school girrrrrl."

"That's one hell of a drawl you've got there, commander. Now who giggled? Malcolm? It was you, wasn't it?"

Pulling himself free of the wall that had previously crushed him, Reed bristled at the accusation.

"Tactical officers do not _giggle_, captain," he said, pointedly.

"Oh, lighten up," muttered a voice.

Archer spun around.

"Who said that?" he snapped, "T'Pol, I'm looking at you…?"

"So I see, captain, but if you'll raise your eyes a few inches, you might be able to see my face…?"

Glancing away quickly and clearing his throat, Archer had the good grace to look embarrassed. Hoshi was glaring at him.

"Captain, I do not believe that we are the only occupants of this room," T'Pol said, quietly, interrupting the 'love interest' argument before it could start.

"Intruders?" Malcolm perked up a little, "Does this mean I can shoot them?"

"Hey!" protested a voice.

"Shh!" whispered another, frantically, "They'll hear you!"

"What's going on?" Archer demanded, swinging around, trying to locate the mysterious voices, "Who's there? I order you to come out, right now!"

"He threatened to shoot me!" complained the first invisible voice, ignoring Archer, "That's not allowed. He's not supposed to fight back!"

Archer opened his mouth to argue with the voice, when, suddenly, out of nowhere, a large stick appeared and began to prod Malcolm in the back.

"What the-? Hey, ouch! Stop – ouch – stop it!"

No matter which way Reed twisted, the stick followed him, prodding and occasionally whacking him over the head for good measure. He started running in circles around the table, but the stick followed, eliciting the occasional yelp and the not-so-occasional curse word. The rating of the story meant that most of what Reed said couldn't be written down, but the author is sure the reader can fill in the blanks.

"Ow! --- it! Get this --- thing off me! One of you --- do something, for --- sake! This isn't ---- funny, you rotten ------! Ow! ----!"

Archer and the others watched for a few minutes in complete disbelief, before turning away and leaving Reed to get on with it.

"Ideas, anyone?"

"Obviously it is the Fanfic Writers," T'Pol commented, trying to bring the conversation back on track, "There is little we can do, I'm afraid."

"I'm all for blowing up the ship at the moment, Captain," Trip grumbled, "Great. No accent again."

He made a grab at the stick as Malcolm ran past him on another lap around the table, but missed. It swung around and bashed him on the head, before continuing its pursuit of Reed. Rubbing the bruise, Trip scowled.

"We're not blowing up the ship," Archer sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, "Hoshi? Do you think you could find a way to talk to them?"

"Fat chance," muttered a voice.

"Excuse me, ensign?" Archer said, darkly.

"I didn't say anything, Jon," Hoshi replied, sulkily, "No-one's paying me any attention. It's not fair. Even Travis is ignoring me."

"Who?" Archer asked, blankly, "Oh, never mind. T'Pol…is there a problem…?

The Vulcan was staring at Reed, who'd collapsed on the deck, panting with exhaustion. The stick still hovered nearby, and there was the distinct sound of someone sniggering. Archer looked around slowly. None of the officers around the table were making any noise.

"T'Pol…?" Archer said, quietly.

"Captain," there was genuine fear in T'Pol's voice as she turned to face him, "The…the Writers. They're…here."

---

TBC

---

FYI – I'm a Brit. Sorry to anyone who took offence at the Limey/Yank joke. I try to discriminate equally against everyone. (And I always end up begging people not to take offence. Please, take offence. Just put it back in the garden when you're finished…offence…a fence? Oh, forget it…)

It is best not to take me seriously.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm sorry I haven't done this update sooner! My modem threw a fit. I think my computer is out to get me. First the damn monitor goes, and then the modem! Anyhow, enough ranting. I live for my reviewers! You're all so kind! Many, many thanks to: **RoaringMice** (I can honestly say I didn't know that about 'Yanks' - thanks for pointing that out, I'll remember for next time!) **The Libran Iniquity** (Thanks! And I'm sure your results will be great! Let me know how you get on.) **West Dean** (Heh heh - that part was fun to write!) **Coconut Girl** (Thank you! I will!) **JadziaKathryn** (Wow! Someone got the joke! lol - thanks!) **Exploded Pen** (You shouldn't put ideas in my head - Cannon Fodder! That's how I'm now thinking of Malcolm! Btw, I decided not to use any real writers in case I cause more fences to be stolen, but...you'll see! Next chapter, maybe!) **elbcw** (I dunnon - this 'Travis' bloke keeps appearing occasionally insisting he exists...lol...) and **J Deaton** (Awww. You made my day with your nice review!) Thanks guys! You Rock!

P.S: I'm concerned that this is going to drag on a bit, and it might get old quickly. That, and my writer's block is starting to evaporate. Nuts. So, while this is not the last chapter, this fic isn't going to drag on too much. I'm not quite done taking the proverbial just yet. And there's more Malcolm bashing to be done. And I like taking the P out of my own work and bad habits...like, not updating!

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one.

**Chapter Four**

Archer tried to move, and found himself frozen in place. He managed to shift his eyes – it seemed that the others were in a similar predicament, standing stock-still, like statues. Eventually, through a momentous effort of will, he managed to speak.

"T'Pol… what's… going… on?"

With an almost audible grating noise, T'Pol managed to move her jaw enough to speak.

"We… are… frozen… in… time."

"Why?"

"Failure… to… update."

"What?"

Suddenly, T'Pol blinked and relaxed.

"I believe it is wearing off," she said, at last, "it is what's known as a failure to update, captain. The Writer has, for some reason, failed to write anything for some time."

"But I thought we weren't in a story at the moment," Archer said, confused.

"Nonetheless, we are trapped by the confines of the Writer's mind. Where we are forgotten about, we simply freeze in a moment until the Writer deigns to return attention to us."

"Are you telling me I'm a figment of someone's imagination?"

"You're a figment of something," T'Pol muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind, captain."

"What about them?" Archer asked, pointing to Hoshi, Trip and Malcolm, who were still frozen.

"They have not yet been involved in the plot – what little there is of it. Hence, they are still frozen in time."

With an evil grin, Archer moved forwards. T'Pol sighed, and slowed herself a shake of the head.

"It's not like I expect you to behave like a normal adult," she sighed.

Archer grinned.

"They're going to be so pissed," he snickered, "how do we get them unfrozen?"

"That is down to the author."

"Oh, yeah…" giggled a voice from the corner.

----

Trip blinked slowly, and opened his eyes.

"What the -?"

"Eew!"

"Oh, that's gross…"

Trip scowled, removing his fingers from where Archer had inserted them, while Malcolm fought to free himself from the rather compromising position he found himself involved in with Hoshi. All three of them glared at Archer.

"What?" he said, innocently.

"We know it was you."

"Can't do anything about it. I'm in charge, remember."

"Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight," chanted a voice.

"Don't tempt me," T'Pol growled, glaring at Archer, "Captain, may I remind you that we are currently surrounded by Fanfic Writers? We are entirely at their mercy."

There was a long pause as T'Pol's announcement sank in. Archer glanced slowly around the room.

"I don't see anybody," he said, at last.

"I do not believe that the Writers have chosen to manifest themselves physically," T'Pol replied, as the other occupants of the room kept their eyes fixed on her chest, "it is possible that our growing awareness of their existence is causing a, um…tear in the fabric of our reality…um…"

"T'Pol?" Trip frowned, "You're…umming."

"Umming?" T'Pol repeated, coldly, "Vulcans do not 'um'. We enunciate clearly."

"She ummed because she was making all that up," Hoshi said, firmly, folding her arms, "she has no idea why we can suddenly hear the voices of the Fanfic Writers."

"I don't see you coming up with any theories," T'Pol shot back, churlishly.

"All right, that's enough," Archer interrupted, "we can't let this go on indefinitely. We need to do something."

"As I previously pointed out, doing something would no doubt entail us getting entangled in a new plot and we would be lost in the story, at the mercy of the Writers," T'Pol pointed out, "it could be anything from angst to romance, drama to horror…it could even be…slash."

Trip and Malcolm instinctively took a step away from each other, while Hoshi inched closer to T'Pol. The Vulcan glared at her.

"I could, you know, _invent_ a Vulcan death grip," she growled.

Hoshi held up her hands and backed off quickly.

----

All of a sudden, Malcolm was aware that the fic had switched to his point of view. That was a bad sign. He whimpered slightly, cringing.

Nothing happened. With one hand on his phase pistol, he looked carefully around the room. There were no mad Klingons, no scary aliens, and no attractive blonde SGC officers. The bulkheads seemed secure, and the table had miraculously repaired itself. He eyed it suspiciously, but it made to move to leap at him. Even the others were ignoring him.

He cleared his throat to speak, thinking it was about time he got some more dialogue.

"Hey!" shouted the voice from the corner, "Cannon Fodder! Behind you!"

Malcolm turned around instinctively as the other gaped at him. Behind him, there stood – or rather, sat – a giant, bright pink worm. It wore a blue baseball cap and carried a huge bat. It grinned at him and waggled its eyebrows (the worm had eyebrows?) suggestively.

"What the-?" Malcolm said, faintly.

Not the dialogue he'd been hoping for, but appropriate under the circumstances. With hands that floated strangely in front of it, totally lacking in arms, the worm drew back the baseball bat, and swung it with deadly force.

The others could only watch as it slammed into Malcolm, and sent him flying, somersaulting,through the air. He disappeared from view, and there was a distant splash.

"Good shot!" said a high-pitched voice.

The worm shouldered the bat, and, with a squeaking noise,crawled away into the turbo lift.

---

"What on earth was that?" Trip asked, in disbelief.

"Quantum singularity," T'Pol said, quickly, watching her logic evaporating quickly in the growing silliness, "an arbitrary manifestation of aggregate neurosis."

"Huh?"

"She said it was a random show of total insanity," Hoshi translated.

"You understood all that?"

"Well, I am a linguist."

Suddenly, Malcolm reappeared, entering from the turbo lift, dripping wet, and scowling.

"Where've yew bin?" Trip asked, amused.

"Don't ask," Malcolm growled, "apparently, I 'slipped off the hook'."

----

"Well, I've had enough of this," Archer said, exasperated, "I give up. I'll be in my ready room."

"Captain, we've got to do something," Trip protested, he accent disappearing again, "you can't just leave us at the mercies of these people!"

"Yes I can. They seem more interested in you and Malcolm anyway. I'm electing not to be a part of this stupidity any more."

"Good plan," murmured the Voice, "go on, bug off."

With awkward, jerky movements, Archer strode off the bridge, as if he were fighting the movement but had no choice as to where he was going.

"That's the extent of the Writer's control," T'Pol said, calmly.

"S--t," Malcolm said, matter-of-factly.

"What the hell does 'st' mean?" Trip asked, mystified.

"It means we're under a mild rating," T'Pol told him, "You can't swear."

----

"Well, this is getting old, quickly," said the first Voice.

"Don't look at me, I've got Writer's block," replied the second Voice.

"We all have. That's the point."

"Well, get them out of the situation room."

"Okay."

----

There was a strange blur, and Trip whipped around in shock.

"The Decon chamber?" he said, mystified.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm groaned.

"This is nice," Hoshi purred.

"I object," T'Pol folded her arms.

The four of them were standing in the Decon chamber, lit with a soft blue glow that failed to hide the fact that they were all now in their underwear. Hoshi sidled closer to Malcolm.

"Will you rub that jelly all over me?" she asked, in a breathy tone.

Looking very tempted by that prospect, Malcolm reached out, but Trip grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked, stunned.

"I want to do it."

"She asked me."

"It's my turn for some love interest."

"She likes me."

"You shot her in the first chapter."

"Oh, you would bring continuity into this, wouldn't you?"

"It's not something you can ignore!"

"Tell that to the bloody Writers!"

"That's enough!" T'Pol snapped, firmly, stepping between the two of them.

Malcolm leaned around her and winked at Trip.

"She's jealous that you want Hoshi," he grinned.

"I am not jealous!" T'Pol shot back.

She took a deep breath, and calmed herself.

"There's only one way to deal with this," she said, folding her arms determinedly, "We have to confront the Writers."

---

A/N: If anyone got confused by the thing with the worm with the baseball bat, it's taken from Worms 3D. Great game. Love it. You've got to try it. It's literally the only computer game I play. It's totally insane.


End file.
